2010-09-10: The New Girl



Date: September 10, 2010


The new campaign micromanager shows her colors.

"The New Girl"

George's office, New York City

The election campaign has kept George in New York City more than usual - reminding people why they voted for him last time, why they should do so again, and while that nice Mr. Crane certainly means well, his talking points aren't quite all they're cracked up to be. And this is going to keep happening every two years. Maybe he should give some thought to the Senate, after all— once the seat that isn't cursed opens up, which might take a while. Even his luck has limits.

Eventually, he did make it back to DC for the usual week's stay - keeping his hand in as various initiatives continued to be pushed, pulled, filed, stamped, log-rolled, and occasionally filibustered in the other house - but now it's back to New York again. At least the trains still run on time, and he's well-rested as he steps into the lobby of his office. Not that it'll last long.

Oh those beautiful revolving doors of politics. Evette strides through the doors not long behind George. Eve, however, is walking with a purpose. "Well, of course I have heard that slogan." The young woman all but purrs with a sultry tone. "I can totally see how that could be catchy. Mmmhmm.. well I'm not one to say anything too horribly bad, but you know what else you can catch from a train; right?" There is a soft giggle that flows past her lips to the ear of whom she's talking to. "Of /course/ I understand. I mean Congressman Dawson is far too concerned with the issues to come up with a slogan." She laughs again. "Well thank you and I'll be sure to get you those reservations." There is a click of that phone going closed.

"Now he is supposed to be here." Evette offers to herself as her bright blue eyes scan the area for the man of the hour. It is there that she sees George. A curve of her lips shows the perfectly bleached teeth as she steps up behind him. "Congressman, might you a moment?"

While Evette finishes up her call, George quietly takes the pulse of the rest of the office: mostly the usual grind, apart from a couple guys in the corner noodling around with a video editing program. "Careful there, Ms. Johansson," he says, glancing over as he pours a couple fresh cups of coffee, "I think the PR team is working on a slogan to go out next week. Not me personally, but voters tend not to care about technicalities." He offers her one of the cups. "I think I can spare a moment, yes. What's been going on?"

Evette looks the man from top to bottom and then bottom to top. "Great, I've checked your calendar as I synched it with mine." She speaks with a sultry tone that could be provocative, but she's not trying. Her eyes study him. "I thought that we would go shopping for something more… camera appropriate." She smiles in a vibrant fashion as she steps closer and types on her phone a few moments. "Wait.. there is a slogan that I don't know about?" She wrinkle her nose in kittenish distaste as ehe makes an entry on her phone. "Please don't talk about trains or cars. I've already started the angle on the Train." She rolls her brilliantly blue eyes. "Now, shopping?" There is a feel that no is not supposed to be the answer.

Oi, she really is a type A. A highly recommended type A, but whether she'll fit in with the team - or whether they'll let her force them to fit in with her - is still up in the air, this early on. Even George can't help but glance down at his own outfit for a moment before he retorts. "Oh, c'mon, I just got off the road! I have good suits, you know, they're just at the apartment." A quick glance back toward the graphic design team. "No slogan yet— you'll get to vet it before it goes out, don't worry. And I'm not about to change my own travel plans, then he'd just accuse me of flip-flopping."

Evette studies the man's outfit slowly. "You always have to look perfect when you are in public. We are in an election and one does want to see you at your best, oui?" There is a frown when the French word leaves her lips. "I mean it is best to keep the good foot forwards at all times." Those azure eyes hold on his hair. "Come, it is not like I will be taking to you too far and I promise I smile well for the cameras if there are any." It may be quite obvious why she was top of her class.

George winces a bit when he hears it, too. The language carries both good and bad associations for him… but in recent months, the bad have been more prominent. It'll take a while for the sting of that to fade. "Hmm, I suppose it can't hurt. I may have to take some calls along the way, though, I apologize in advance." And agreeing to go isn't the same as agreeing to buy anything, right?

Evette notices the wince but doesn't say anything. "Calls? Fine, fine. I understand that." In fact hers is ringing now. She points one finger in the air as she takes it. "Evette speak… no comment." Her voice takes on an edge before she nods her head to that. "Right.. well we don't have a comment at this time, but surely you would not believe it to be him. I assure you that he is not currently in Houston with his gay lover. Thank you for fact checking." Then she looks him over. "We'll start with your hair, just a trim." She pivots on her foot easily to walk back out the way she came in. There is one good thing in all this, the girl knows how to walk. In fact, she might know a bit too much.

As they head back out toward the street, George arches a brow as the latest caller's agenda is gradually revealed. "Where do they get these guys? I haven't been in Houston for nearly twenty years now." The gay-lover part is not dignified with a response, not that it should even count as a campaign issue anyway. (But it still does. Loud moral watchdogs on one side, loud LGBT activists on the other…) "How's the staffing effort coming along? We've still got two months to go— I assume you don't intend to watchdog me around the clock."

Evette's on the LGBT side of things, moreso for her brother. Then she blinks at that. "Watchdog you? Could you not make it sound more.. friendly? How about assist you in close quarters?" She gives a bright smile that shows a rather gorgeous beauty. The woman really could model. "I plan on knowing every place you are, who you are with and what you are doing for the rest of the campaign. I will make this a success regardless of what I have to do." One might guess she's terminally single. "I have an appointment for you at the spa with promised security. We are going to sort of.. overhaul you a bit." She smiles again. "Shall we?"

On paper, the schedule looks flawless, perfect. Exquisite, even. Walk to point A, meet and greet whatever crowd is present along the way, spend designated amount of time getting image touched up; repeat for points B, C, and so forth. Unfortunately for Evette's peace of mind, the crowd never agreed to keep to the schedule…

Bergdorf Goodman

"What are you doing about the strike?" "Where do you stand on burning copies of the Koran tomorrow?" None of these people were planning to run into George - but when they do, they jump all over the opportunity, talking over each other louder as they go. And not all of them are interested in the issues, either. "Is this your new—?" "No way, he was dating that blonde, remember?"

Evette looks over at George and lifts her brows for a moment. "Your fans are impressive." She grins a bit more and then steps forwards to gather the attention. "Thank you so much for expressing your concerns. We could not respond if you did not." Her lower lip almost threatens to jut out. "First and most importantly, Congressman Dawson does not support any Koran burning. We are working with the police force to make sure that everything and everyone is protected." She glances towards George for agreement. If there is a camera, she's smiling on that piece of film and that flash.

There are cameras aplenty, and a number of people seem pleased with that answer. But not quite all of them. "But what about freedom of speech?" another white-haired fellow in a polo shirt pipes up. He looks like he's about to get on a roll when George holds up a hand up toward him. "Of course people have the right to do it," he answers, "but let's be honest here— it's a dick move and you know it." At that, the older man turns red-faced and wanders off, muttering under his breath about how 'I was gonna vote for the other guy anyway'.

Evette shuts her eyes at the mention of 'dick move'. However, one could never tell. The woman seems born to be in front of cameras, not pushing paper. She totally blows off the comments on his personal life. She's not a blonde, it's all good. "As to the strike…" She lets out a breath. "The office feels for you all and our hearts go out to both sides. Each person has a list of value for both. It is like any issue with two sides and because of that we are looking at both of them and assisting how we can. We would like to see the strike ended as quickly as the both of you." Her eyes then again seem to cue George.

"Preferably before it starts, in fact," George adds, not missing a beat on this one. "Which isn't until midnight tonight. We've been in touch with all the key players over the past few days— right now, the ball's in their court." There are still some grumbles, but they're arguing with each other and not with him directly; a couple of polite handshakes later, he shoulders his way through the rest of the crowd, Evette in tow, and makes a beeline for what looks like the formalwear department. He hasn't been to this store before, but she'll have scouted out the layout in advance, surely.

Evette has the layout of almost every building, the vantage points, the high time and low time. Her smile stays in place and oddly, she doesn't look so severe. However, her hand comes out of her pocket to type something into it. A memo to herself perhaps. Then she is up and walking with him. "Is there anything you need while we are shopping?"

"Oh, an extra four hours in the day would be nice," George murmurs, "but I didn't see time travel anywhere on your list of qualifications." God help him if he ever meets someone who does; there could well be a few out there somewhere… "What do you make of this?" he adds, taking a double-breasted jacket off the rack and handing it to Evette.

Evette gives him a look of shock and then blinks. "You are kidding right?" She picks up the jacket and puts it back on the rack. "Double-breasted is out this autumn. It is all about tailored trends and streamline design." She sounds like she's quoting Esquire or Maxim or something. Her eyes look around and then her fingers snap. That draws attention. "We need to have the Congressman measured and fit please." She smiles a bit more sincerely. "I should have brought my brother. He always says it takes a queen to dress a man right."

George purses his lips. "Mrm. Pick it up anyway, though, I know someone who might go for it." It'll be interesting to find out whether Dennis's fashion sense matches hers or not. "Where is your brother? There's still time to bring him in for a consultation, if he's really that good. Just as long as he hasn't been to Houston recently…"

Evette gives a soft giggle to that last part. It is over so quickly and covered that it might not have been there. "Pierre lives in San Francisco with his partner, Troy." She sighs outwardly and then picks up the jacket. "I want to go on record that he will /not/ be wearing this." A woman walks over to direct them to the three-way mirror. "Wait… let's get him some new shoes too." Evette is gone for all of three minutes before she comes back with shoes. In his size. "Here put these on for measuring. We'll want the pants to hit just midline of the heel."

What does that even mean? The heel's the part on the bottom of the shoe, right, or is there some jargon version of it that he didn't know about? George picks up the shoes, holding them up to the light and squinting. "You sure brown's a good color for these? I always saved it for casual wear, myself."

If it is wrong, she's not admitting it. "It is perfect. Besides, we just need it for style and the height for measurements." Her blue eyes flow over the man thoughtfully and it almost looks like she's going to measure him on her own. "So, what blonde are they talking about? Is it that .. um.. actress?" She's leaning against the wall punching words into her phone.

"That's the one." There's a hard edge to George's voice as he says it, something he's normally careful to avoid. "It's a long story, but the short version is— things didn't work out. And I've learned that 'no comment' definitely needs to be applied to that topic from now on."

Type! Type! Typ.. The typing stops to the tone or the words perhaps. Eve looks up for a few blinks at the man. "We'll have to say you parted ways, but that is it. You were public with your whirlwind and proposal. So we have to explain that things are ended just to make sure. From there we will no comment." She smiles softly at the man. "I'm sorry. Is there anyone else or are you going through a lot of women after the break up?" There's no judgment as her blue eyes peer over at him.

George nods, absently gesturing with one hand to indicate that yes, she's gotten the details right. "Not at the moment, no." There are one or two who might be on the radar somewhere— but then Evette didn't ask about that, did she? Handing the shoes back, he picks up a gray fedora instead, peering at himself in a nearby mirror as he holds it up.

Evette nods. "Good, I know it seems invasive, but I need to know. That way I know how to react if and when the media attention hits it. That's just what we need, you all over the tabloids before election." She pushes off of the wall and moves to step forwards. Her fingers reach up to pull down the bill of the fedora. "Here's lookin' at you, kid." Did.. she just sort of make a joke? Nah. The woman turns to walk back over out of the way. "I'm afraid that I'm going to be on your side like glue until we get a vote for you. If you are in DC, I'm in DC. If you are in New York, I'm in New York. I have a place in DC." There is a blink to that. "Oh! I should really get one here." A sigh escapes her lips and another note made. "Is there anything on your schedule that I need to take account of? I have most the birthdays that were in your rolodex and we have a few engagements we should have you attend."

"Most?" George arches a brow— clearly it's not like her to be less than completist. Makes sense that she'd admit it, though, whatever the reason. "Yes, sooner rather than later— I expect to spend more time here, I usually split it about 50-50. Go for a hotel room long-term if it comes to it. Oh, and keep tomorrow evening free? I've got a friend I was going to call up." Leaning over, he lets go of the hat, letting it fall easily onto the top of Evette's head where it threatens to tip backward. "And don't burn yourself out— there's no bonus for giving yourself a heart attack."

Evette lifts her brows to that. "A friend? Is this something I'm going to have to put in the media or have a press release for?" There is a sigh and a mutter about politicans under her breath. That nose of hers wrinkles when the hat falls on her head. It actually has this strange adorable and odd look to it. "Is it me?" The sapphire of her eyes roll upwards towards the hat, as if she can see it. Then she looks back towards him. "Fine, tomorrow evening. Do I need to make you reservations anywhere?"

George laughs, shaking his head. No, he's not going for the inappropriate-relations-with-an-intern stereotype. Especially since Evette would break his arm if he called her an intern. "My sister's old roommate from college, actually— she was off working on the Gulf cleanup for a while, just got back in town recently." Which leaves out some private details, but it's enough for Evette to do her due diligence. "If you can just keep my calls redirected, I'll take care of the rest of it."

Evette lifts her brows. It looks like she is going to say no. Oh wow does it look like she's going to say no. "Fine." It's snapped though as she types faster on her phone. "More than a days notice next time you want to.." She trails off. ".. meet up with a friend. I'll handle your calls all night. You can be disturbed by eight in the morning, yes? Or will your guest still be over?" The hat is taken off her head to be set where it was previously.

Ah, there's the expected level of resistance— he was wondering how she'd react to such short notice this time around. Note to self, plan well ahead for personal time, at least through November. "I'm not… expecting her to be," George says, furrowing his brow in thought. "Yes, eight at the latest. Even if she is."

Evette looks the man over and disgust covers her features before she blinks them away. "Right.. men in politics." She shakes her head and mutters, "Draft…cheap…tomorrow… story." Then she nods. "Okay, so I have you off phones until eight the next morning. I trust it will not happen again at this juncture of the campaign. The blonde we will draft up that you are no longer seeing each other. It's good to see you move through women so quickly. I'll make note of that so I can have something quick to run to presses in a blanket sort of thing previously." She looks up with a detached view. "They have your measurements, we have an appointment for your hair if you are ready?"

What does it say about your chances when even your campaign manager assumes you're thinking with the wrong head? Well, probably not that much, actually; she'll catch on quickly enough. George shakes his head, not bothering to argue the point right away, merely nodding to Evette as he prepares to head on to the next item on the day's agenda.

Evette nods and smiles warmly to the staff. It's that strange charm that she can turn on and off. "Thank you so much for all your assistance. I'll be sure to get them your cards." This chatter goes on for more than a few moments. The staff are beside themselves and will probably be voting Dawson come November. Her smile stays on her lips before she turns to George and goes to business mode. "Wonderful, Ralph is actually one of the best in the city…" She looks up at George's hair. ".. it is not too bad, just give it a bit modern edge with old school charm." She offers her arm like a Victorian escort, "Shall we?"

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